


sweet as cherry wine

by knightswatch



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Final Haikyuu Quest, Demons, Enemies to Lovers, Exes, Getting Back Together, Love Confessions, Lovers To Enemies, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Quests, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-09-21 22:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9569477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightswatch/pseuds/knightswatch
Summary: It's almost poetically unfair, that he's the human Iwaizumi would send after the sword. Shigeru doesn't want to think about why it makes sense, because Iwaizumi knows Kyoutani can be trusted to accomplish a mission on his own, nor does he really want todealwith the situation.Really, the best case scenario, as far as Shigeru is concerned, would be to have never seen Kyoutani Kentarou again.





	1. like rum on a fire

“Shi-chan!” Oikawa smiles as soon as Shigeru enters his chambers, a series of increasingly complex scrolls tucked under one of his arms. He frowns almost immediately at the address. Oikawa’s voice is too bright, too chipper—it nearly sends a shiver down Shigeru’s spine to hear. The fake tone Oikawa uses might work on others, but to Shigeru it’s grating, like claws scraping across stone. He’s heard far too much of it lately. “I’ve got a job for you!”

“When don’t you?” Shigeru responds dryly, laying the scrolls carefully on Oikawa’s already mussed desk. He takes a glance at the room and clicks his tongue, making a note in the back of his mind that he’ll have to ask someone to come and tidy the room up. He’s not sure _who_. It’s just as likely he’ll do it himself the next time Oikawa gives into his body’s inconvenient need for food or sleep. For once, Oikawa’s stronghold is dangerously understaffed, and Shigeru is reluctant to bring up the matter when Oikawa is staring at him with manic, red-toned eyes. 

The dark color is accompanied by the heavy bags underneath that only make Shigeru want to sigh. He might have stayed willingly by Oikawa’s side these past six months, but it certainly hasn’t been easy managing the demon king all by himself. Oikawa doesn’t seem to note the heavy sarcasm in Shigeru’s tone, or he simply ignores it rather than give the other demon the satisfaction of getting a rise out of him. “What kind of job?”

“Well,” Oikawa taps his fingers on the desk, nails falling into familiar grooves that have been worn by the nervous scraping of his sharp nails. “I need you to go fetch something for me.”

Shigeru raises an eyebrow, looking over his shoulder at the door with something of an offended huff. A fetch quest? That’s what Oikawa is expecting him to spend his time on? “Can’t Tanaka or Nishinoya do it?”

“It needs to be you,” Oikawa leans back in his seat, but his eyes jump away from Shigeru’s face, betraying his nerves even further. This only makes Shigeru more curious about what this might be about, though he’s sure already that it’s nothing good. “It’s… important. And I need someone who will get there and back before… other attention falls on it.”

Certainly, it’s nothing good. Shigeru inclines his head slightly anyway, indicating for Oikawa to continue talking. Not that he ever tells Oikawa no anyway. If he were the squeamish type, he wouldn’t still be here, after all. Oikawa frowns slightly, the sharp point of one fang poking into his lower lip. He seems to be seeking a delicate way to phrase something.

“Iwa- Iwaizumi is probably going to try to obtain a sword very soon,” Oikawa stumbles, the name unfamiliar to his tongue for too many reasons. “A sword that could kill me.”

“He knows how to find something like that?” Killing a demon isn’t easy, and that goes tenfold for one like Oikawa himself. Shigeru can think of a few relics that could do the job, but they’re mostly old and dangerous, hidden away in far, hard to find places for that exact reason. Oikawa hasn’t been in power long enough to have been responsible for hiding them himself, but Shigeru isn’t surprised that Oikawa knows. Oikawa nods his head, sighing, his shoulders slumping.

“I told him,” he answers, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear the hair from his face. Shigeru knows better, he can see the gleam in Oikawa’s eyes. “In case he ever—”

Oikawa trails off, shaking his head once more before sitting up straight, throwing his head back with a laugh that crackles with too much energy as it leaves his mouth. That nearly makes Shigeru cringe on its own. It’s becoming harder and harder to ignore the fact that Oikawa Tooru is not the ruler that he used to be. His attention is fractured, he refuses to rest or eat most days, and his grip on himself seems to be growing tenuous at best.

“So, I’ve gotta bring it back before he does?” Shigeru raises an eyebrow, sighing softly when Oikawa nods his head. It’s not exactly an assignment to look forward to, but if he can help somehow, then that might be good enough to tip the balance one way or another.

Not that Shigeru is entirely certain he _wants_ to see it tip. They’ve been walking a razor’s edge for months, and Shigeru isn’t eager to see what’s on either side of the blade, not really.

And maybe a vacation will be good. It’ll get him out of the castle for awhile, if nothing else. Oikawa still looks doubtful that Shigeru will even agree at all, something that nearly makes him laugh. He’s so used to getting the worst of what Oikawa needs done pushed onto his shoulders; doing whatever it takes to quietly assure a victory, to ensure that Oikawa stays in his seat at the top of the mountain, that this hardly seems like an obstacle at all.

“Where is it, then?” Shigeru asks, placing a hand on his hip with a sigh that’s just a shade over dramatic. Oikawa rummages through the mess that is his enormous desk, sending pieces of paper flying and scrolls rolling to the floor that Shigeru stoops over to pick up and return neatly to the desk. Ever the obedient underling, he thinks, nearly laughing at himself. He doesn’t quite make it all the way there, recalling who used to tease him about the same thing at every given chance. 

He shakes the thought away, just as Oikawa produces a page from somewhere in the pile, smiling. It’s blank, but it only takes a moment for Shigeru to work out why, rolling it up and tucking it carefully under his arm. “You spelled it?”

“You’ll have to use a drop of you blood to see it, it’ll vanish again when you fold it up,” Oikawa shrugs, though his casual air is more than a little forced. “Couldn’t be too careful with all of those humans running around.”

There aren’t humans running around the castle anymore, at least, though Shigeru imagines that doesn’t make Oikawa feel any less worried.

“You won’t have a problem here on your own, will you?” Shigeru’s tone is light, playful, but his concern is real. He’s not worried that someone will slip into Oikawa’s room in the middle of the night and try to slit his throat, but he’s sure that Oikawa has to be reaching the end of his ability to work, or at least to do it without driving himself entirely into the ground.

Oikawa waves a hand dismissively in the air, his smile staying fixed perfectly in place. “I’ve got Tetsu-chan here to help me out, don’t you worry about a thing!”

That, shockingly, does not actually make Shigeru any less concerned about Oikawa taking proper care of himself, though he bites back another comment on it. Kuroo Tetsurou, while only being considered half-demon, is entirely trouble. Shigeru checks the map under his arm once more before nodding his head at Oikawa and turning to leave. There still seems to be something anxious in Oikawa’s expression, and it nags in the back of Shigeru’s mind even as he makes his way back to his own room to prepare for the trip, unable to place what the source of it might be on his own.

*** * ***

Kyoutani Kentarou is not really well suited for living in such close quarters with other people.

It’s true that living in the castle, there was the expectation that he would share the barracks with Iwaizumi’s other knights—specifically a bunk bed where Kindaichi and his frequent dream-related mumblings slumbered just underneath Kentarou. But, it turned out that expectation was rarely a reality. Kentarou spent far more of his evenings in one of the private rooms set aside for Oikawa’s closest courtiers and confidants…

Waking up in a small tent with Kindaichi curled up against his side, an arm thrown heavy and careless over his waist is hardly Kentarou’s idea of a good morning, is really the point. Still, despite glaring at the younger knight as he starts to sit up, Kentarou is almost gentle in his efforts to extricate himself from Kindaichi’s hold. They’ve all been through enough these last few months that it makes it harder and harder for Kentarou to snap at him the way he’s used to. So, Kentarou wiggles himself free with a quiet grunt at the effort and Kindaichi slumbers peacefully on. He pulls a shirt on before stepping out of the tent, the grass still damp with dew under his bare feet.

Free from the tent, Kentarou stretches with a long groan, looking over the small camp. They’re a neat assembly of white canvas tents, though some of them are worse for the wear at this point, showing tears and burn marks. There are no little flags at the top, fitting as none of them really belong to a nation anymore.

It reminds Kentarou of growing up with Travelers, before he settled in with Iwaizumi after an attempt to raid one of the demon king’s fortress’ went badly. 

Iwaizumi himself is already up and armored, a fact that hardly strikes Kentarou as being surprising. At this point, he’s not entirely certain _when_ Iwaizumi sleeps, though he’s almost certain that he does it with one eye open. He’s seated on a log dragged in front of an impromptu fire pit, and when he hears Kentarou he looks over his shoulder with a slight smile. “Good morning, Kyoutani-kun.”

Kentarou grunts in return, taking a seat at the other end of the log and trying to rub the remaining bits of sleep from his eyes. Iwaizumi’s smile grows just a touch, amused probably. Kentarou is not much of a morning person.

He looks back into the low flames of the fire, the smile slowly shrinking off of his face. “There’s something I have to ask you do to.”

Kentarou raises an eyebrow curiously, and Iwaizumi glances up at him with a small sigh, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t ask if I thought I could trust anyone else with it, but I need someone to go who won’t need orders halfway through.”

“I can handle it,” Kentarou grumbles, even before he’s certain what the mission might be. It doesn’t matter, as far as he’s concerned. He wouldn’t be following Iwaizumi in the first place if he weren’t prepared to take on the hard parts of it as well. “You don’t gotta worry about me.”

“I do in this case,” Iwaizumi rubs one gloved hand nervously at the back of his neck before sighing and dropping it to his lap once more. “I need you to go get a sword for me.”

Kentarou is about to open his mouth and ask why he needs to be in charge of something so simple, ignoring that just a moment he was trying to convince Iwaizumi to give him the task. Iwaizumi catches the argument, and his lips quirk upward slightly, glancing over his shoulder like he’s concerned about someone overhearing.

“It’s important, if we have any chance of stopping him then I’ll need it,” Iwaizumi keeps his voice low, and understanding sinks into place. “He told me where to find it, which means he probably sent someone after it too.”

“How do you know he doesn’t have it already?” Kentarou grumbles, partially out of a lingering curiosity. Oikawa hardly scares him, and the same goes for any of the demons that decided to stay with him when Iwaizumi left.

Iwaizumi gives him a slight glare for the question, though not enough to dissuade Kentarou from wanting an answer to it. He’s probably the only one who hasn’t asked the specifics of why Iwaizumi left. Because really, he considers it none of his business.

Knowing _why_ wouldn’t have made it any easier to follow him.

Kentarou swallows, turning his face slightly away, one hand curling into a fist in his lap. 

"I can't promise that he hasn't sent..." Iwaizumi trails off, but there's a suggestive lift to his eyebrows that Kentarou can't avoid the meaning of. He nods his head slightly, looking at the tangle of his fingers in his lap.

"I'll handle it." It's not as if they haven't spent six months picking small fights with Oikawa's forces, moving back closer and closer toward the castle. It's not as if Kentarou hasn't asked himself a dozen times if he's actually prepared to fight against Yahaba or not. He's sure he will be, whenever the moment arrives; and if he's not, then he won't be counting on Yahaba harboring the same sentimentality towards him. "I'll go, if you can tell me where."

Iwaizumi nods his head, pushing himself up with a slight smile on his face. He glances back at Kentarou, tilting his head slightly. "You should make sure you tell Kindaichi you're going. He'll need someone else to cling to at night."

Annoyed, Kentarou huffs a single breath through his teeth and looks away. Iwaizumi laughs, and it might be the first time either of them has done so in weeks.

*** * ***

Shigeru has never been much of a fan of traveling by foot to go anywhere, but crossing half the country to some sad, forgotten old temple where a sad, forgotten old demon hid a sword is low in his list of excellent vacation ideas.

He does it anyway, of course, because it would be too risky to open a portal that far, and they don't have enough mages around the castle anymore to cook up that kind of magic quickly. Kenma might have been able to swing it, which only makes Shigeru more nervous about beating whoever Iwaizumi might send after the sword to the punch.

It's almost too late that he puts the pieces together on his own. 

Almost, but not quite. It's when he smells the soft burn of woodsmoke on his third evening out, bordering a forest. The sun has just started to set, and Shigeru creeps past the dense line of trees. He considers working up a glamor to hide his horns, his sharp nails and sharper teeth, enough to allow him to pass as human and maybe take advantage of shelter for the evening. He creeps closer to find the lone traveler, sitting by a small fire with his back to Shigeru.

His back, and his corn yellow hair with two black stripes shaved into it, wrapping from temple to temple.

Shigeru's mouth feels dry. He can feel the soft, slightly curled texture of that hair between his fingers still, the way it's shorter and rougher along the pair of stripes. Shigeru clenches his hands tight into fists, glaring at Kentarou's back. It's almost poetically unfair, that he's the human Iwaizumi would send after the sword. Shigeru doesn't want to think about why it makes sense, because Iwaizumi knows Kyoutani can be trusted to accomplish a mission on how own, nor does he really want to _deal_ with the situation.

Really, the best case scenario, as far as Shigeru is concerned, would be to have never seen Kyoutani Kentarou again.

As it is now, he crouches a dozen feet away in the darkness, remembering how Kyoutani left him, teeth bared slightly in frustration.

Perhaps after half a year, it shouldn't sting so badly. It's not as if Shigeru's never had a lover leave before, and seeing Kyoutani shouldn't make his heart thud in a confused, disjointed rhythm. He rubs the pointed tip of his tongue against his fangs, eyes narrowing further.

He creeps another step forward, but this time he's careless, his foot nearly catching on a branch. Kyoutani jerks slightly, his head whipping around with all the grace of a startled predator, peering into the darkness. Shigeru is lucky that Kyoutani's vision is nowhere near as good as his own, especially in the dark.

Shigeru, for a moment, tries to entertain the idea that he could creep into Kyoutani's camp after he falls asleep and do away with him entirely. It would make his job much easier, certainly, and leave Iwaizumi lacking a warrior he can trust with such an important job.

But, the very idea of having Kyoutani's blood on his hands makes Shigeru feel sick. Not in the slight, vague way he feels after he wakes up from a dream about the two of them, grasping at the empty space left in his bed and still trying to grind Kyoutani's name between his teeth, but in a much more concrete, immediate way.

Alright. So killing him isn't an option, at least not yet. Shigeru's certain he _could_ , if he had to, but he can't do it out of convenience or simple spite.

He'll need a better plan than that, it seems. With a huff, he carefully slides the bag from his back, looking at everything he packed along with him for something that might help.

Luckily, he thought to tuck a coil of dragonscale chain at the very bottom. He grips it between his fingers, feeling the slender chain expand and lengthen in his hand like a snake stretching to its full length. The tension hasn’t quite left Kyoutani’s frame yet, but that’s alright. He’ll quiet soon enough; even with as much trust as he has in his instincts.

Unfortunately, that leaves a stretch of time for Shigeru to settle in and wait, alone with his thoughts. And with Kyoutani so close, it’s impossible to keep him out. His tongue worries against one fanged canine, watching carefully as Kyoutani returns to poking at his small fire, head hunched between his shoulders. Shigeru would like to pretend that he doesn’t trace his gaze over the familiar bend of Kyoutani’s back, that he pays no attention to the fact that he seems thinner despite the fact he’s got the same old armor with him.

He still has greaves buckled to his legs, but the heavier chest piece rests a few feet away, the curved metal catching the light of the fire and warping it into strange patterns, and when Kyoutani leans slightly to grab something from his pack, Shigeru can see the very bottom of the clan tattoo on his hip. It’s old, the lines beginning to blur into one another, and it’s been a long time since Kyoutani called his place with the Travelers home…

It seems like it’s been a long time since his home was with Shigeru—if it ever was.

Eventually, Kyoutani must convince himself that the sensation of being watched is a trick of the mind, because he bundles his pack under his head and stretches out by the fire to sleep, though he keeps his blade within arms reach. It doesn’t matter to Shigeru; he’s plenty of practice already in making sure Kyoutani doesn’t wake up before Shigeru wants him to.

After his eyes shut and stay that way, Shigeru closes the distance between them with creeping steps. He’s drawn the line of chain from his pack already, and helpfully, Kyoutani already has his wrists tucked together, resting on his chest. But, once he’s close, Shigeru hesitates, staring down at Kyoutani’s sleeping face.

He _is_ thinner than he used to be; the angles of his jaw and his collarbone are more pronounced, and there are bruise-like shadows under his eyes. There’s also a slice on his cheek, from the corner of his nose almost to his ear, that’s still healing into a thin, pink line. Likely, it’ll end up a scar, like the dozens of others Kyoutani has.

Shigeru remembers, though he’d rather not, trying to count them all one night. He’d mapped them out with his fingers, with his mouth, while Kyoutani squirmed against the fine sheets of his bed, uncomfortable with such close scrutiny.

Before he wraps the chain three times around Kyoutani’s wrists and secures it, Shigeru takes just a moment to wonder if he could keep going, if he could pretend he hadn’t seen Kyoutani at all and just race him to get the sword first.

The soft rattle of the chain sealing with a single word of power from Shigeru’s lips is the thing that wakes Kyoutani. His eyes flutter, his brow already furrowing before they even open all the way, one hand reaching for his sword—

He’s stopped by the binding of the chain, and he jerks his wrists again before truly coming awake, his teeth bared in a snarl. Shigeru, still leaning over him with the remaining length of chain in his hand, smirks.

It takes a long moment for Kyoutani to put the pieces together. He’s always been slow to wake up, and for a moment he looks at Shigeru with something in his eyes, something so familiar that it makes Shigeru’s chest ache, hollow and wanting.

But Kyoutani’s eyes go hard after a moment, and they’re both forced to recall the position that they find themselves in.

“What are you doing here?” He growls, the spitting of the fire adding to the venom of his words. Shigeru keeps smiling, like no part of this situation bothers him in the least.

Too good at pretending, as always. “I was just out for a walk.”

Kyoutani doesn’t smile at the show of good humor. Instead, he lifts his hands in front of him with a flat look on his face. At that, Shigeru shrugs his shoulders, leaving the end of the chain wrapped loosely around his wrist and gathering Kyoutani’s sword in hand instead, makes a show of examining the blade.

It’s old, an inheritance, but Kyoutani has always done his best to keep it in good shape. His mother’s sword.

Shigeru wishes he could forget these things. It’s been half a year since he had even seen Kyoutani, and yet it feels like the wound has never closed. “Well, since you’re so insistent, I’ve got a job to do and I have a feeling you’re going to get in my way if I just leave you to wander around.

“Besides,” Shigeru stabs the point of the sword into the soft ground, leaning his elbow on it just for the way it makes Kyoutani grit his teeth in irritation. “You’ve always looked so nice on a leash.”

*** * ***

Understandably, Kentarou finds it hard to go back to sleep once more. Part of it is his frustration with himself for getting caught so easily, and by Yahaba of all people, but greater than that, he’s forced to wonder how exactly this will play out.

As it is, he and Yahaba settle on opposite sides of the fire, with Yahaba dangling the loose end of the chain off of his wrist. Kentarou twists his hands against the binding, holding them in the light of the fire to examine it more closely. He can feel Yahaba watching him, his eyes glowing in the low light of the fire, looking more now like a demon than he ever did to Kentarou before. His horns seem longer, the ends no longer clipped to neat points.

In the low light, he can see the slight red tint to the metal and he looks up at Yahaba with a frown. “Dragonscale?”

“It comes in handy,” he shrugs, failing still to seem the least bit bothered by the situation. That answers the question of whether or not Kentarou will be able to break his way free of the chains; a resounding no. There are other options, still, not the least of which is waiting until Yahaba has his back turned and snapping his skinny neck. And while Kentarou struggles to read the intention on Yahaba’s face, it seems like the reverse isn’t quite true. “Oh, there’s a scary face. Are you thinking about killing me, Kyoutani-kun?”

More than he expected, he hates hearing his name roll so formally out of Yahaba’s mouth. Kentarou can feel the way his lips curl into a deeper snarl because of it, and Yahaba does nothing but continue to chuckle at him. “You could try, if you’d like.”

He’s not sure he could go through with it, and for that more than anything, Kentarou loathes himself. He knows, better than anyone, exactly what Yahaba is and exactly what Yahaba is capable of. As far as Yahaba is concerned, he owes Oikawa Tooru something greater than just his life, and no matter how reluctant he is to follow the order, Yahaba has never failed the demon king.

Right now that means Kentarou can’t trust anything that Yahaba might or might not do. The fire hisses as a log crumbles into ash, casting strange shadows on the planes of Yahaba’s face. “I don’t think you will.”

Kentarou huffs at that, though he’s sure the irritation that Yahaba once again is right about him shows as plainly on his face as anything else.

He’s never been _like_ Yahaba, and that alone may have been the reason they worked so well together for so long. Yahaba is quiet, unassuming, and people will just as quickly look past him; that’s always been where Yahaba is his most effective. A knife that targets never see coming.

Kentarou, on the other hand, is almost too obvious. He’s always had the subtlety of a brick to the side of the face, and he’s too easy to read even for someone who lacks the practice and experience that Yahaba has at the particular task. Too loud, too much, but he’s always been strong enough to hold his own despite it. It’s the reason he’s still alive now, even if he’s very possibly staring his death in the face.

And Yahaba’s face is empty, in the way that’s always caused Kentarou as much hurt as frustration. He’s seen plenty of emotion on the demon’s face, of course. He’s seen everything that Yahaba has allowed himself to show. ‘Nothing’ has always been the emotion that he hates to see the most. He’d much rather have Yahaba be spitting mad at him than look at him and give away nothing. The empty smirk fades from Yahaba’s face, and he fakes a yawn.

“Well, we do have a long trip, don’t we? It’d be a good idea to get some rest.” He moves like he intends to lay down, but stops when Kentarou simply huffs at him. His head tilts to the side, and the shadow of a real smile hovers at the corners of his lips. “You can come over here if you’d like. I know you like to cuddle.”

At the moment, what Kentarou would like is to rip Yahaba’s throat out. “Fuck you.”

He grits the words out between his teeth, scraping the back of his throat like acid. He can hardly stand it, to sit there and listen to Yahaba joke about him, about the two of them and what they used to be, like it was nothing.

Maybe it was. Maybe Kentarou is more of an idiot than he thought, and Yahaba is simply toying with him before slitting his throat.

Yahaba laughs, laying his head on his pack with a little shrug of his shoulders. “Don’t try to wander off now.”

He closes his eyes, though Kentarou can tell he doesn’t sleep. Kentarou doesn’t either, though he slumps halfway between rest and waking sometime before dawn. 

It’s after the sun begins to rise that the slight tugs on the chain of Yahaba moving around pull his attention back. He sits up, watching Yahaba bite into his index finger before rubbing it on a blank sheet of paper. A moment later, the paper explodes with color and shapes, making a map. Kentarou leans closer to read it, causing the chain around his wrists to rattle. Yahaba’s head snaps up at that, frowning and turning away slightly. “Good morning.”

His tone is likely not as ice cold as he meant it to be, and Kentarou grunts in return. He leverages himself up, taking a seat next to Yahaba to look at the map. When Yahaba tries to hide it again, Kentarou simply rolls his eyes. “I already know where it is, idiot.”

“Where what is?” Yahaba snaps, doing a truly admirable job of acting like he doesn’t know anything. Kentarou nudges a foot against his hip, not quite hard enough to really be called a kick.

“The stupid sword that Iwaizumi-san wants.” There’s no point in hiding it, and Yahaba sighs. He spreads the map in his lap, giving Kentarou a slight glare.

“You know he means to _kill_ Oikawa.” He snaps, like that information will in any way dissuade Kentarou from doing his job.

“Well two months ago Oikawa tried to kill me.” Kentarou shrugs. It was terrifying at the time, of course, but Kentarou has been nurturing a fear of Oikawa since well before Iwaizumi decided he’d had enough of him. Yahaba frowns at that, just for a moment, his brow furrowing.

“When?” He asks the question as if he’s forgotten that he’s not supposed to care at all.

Kentarou almost wants to laugh at him for the tiny gesture of caring, as much as he wants to laugh at himself for thinking it means anything.

“That fight in Hanamura,” Kentarou shrugs his shoulders, frowning. “Damn near sliced Kunimi’s leg off, too.”

“What?” Yahaba’s eyes blink rapidly in confusion. Kunimi is one of the few non-humans who decided to leave Oikawa’s side and follow Iwaizumi’s merry band of doomed men out into the wilderness. “Is he alright?”

Now Kentarou does laugh, shaking his head and giving the chain around his wrists a jerk. “What do you care?”

Yahaba falls silent, looking down at his map, though Kentarou knows him too well to mistake it for shame. Even if it was, it wouldn’t change Yahaba’s unwavering loyalty to Oikawa. He’s never tried to get the full story, but Kentarou has gathered on his own that before Oikawa, Yahaba’s life was dramatically worse, and worth far less. It goes much deeper than any injury Kunimi might have sustained, it goes deeper than any relationship that Kentarou and Yahaba ever had.

He learned that one the hard way, after all. Yahaba sighs, folding the map carefully. As soon as he begins, the images vanish and Kentarou grits his teeth in irritation. “We’ll have to go through the Glass Forest.”

“Won’t that be fun,” Kentarou leverages himself up to his feet once more, making his way back to his bag, the chain dragging along the ground behind him.

“Do you remember—” Yahaba starts, then cuts himself off abruptly. Kentarou glares over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. It’s not exactly the best situation for the two of them to be reminiscing. Yahaba shakes his head, looking frustrated, and that alone is almost enough to make Kentarou want to ask what he’s thinking of.

If he had to hazard a guess on his own, it’s probably the first time they were forced to go through the forest together, and they wound up having to hide in a cave from a sudden tempest. They were both soaked, cold to the bone, and in the end, glad to have each other’s company. 

(It wasn’t the first time they had sex, but it was the first time that Kentarou thought it meant anything more than a way to work out shared frustrations. It was the first time having sex left them laughing and glowing when they finished.)

Yahaba shifts, and the chain rings like a bell, jerking Kentarou out of the pleasant memories and back into the unflinching present. “Well, we should head off then, don’t you think?”

He lifts the chain in one hand, a little smirk accompanying it. Kentarou hardly resists the urge to roll his eyes. As easy as it is to fall into old habits with Yahaba, it’s clear that he hasn’t forgotten that they no longer stand on the same side and he’s more than content to drag Kentarou along as a prisoner.

The length of the chain contracts when Yahaba gives it another sharp tug, forcing Kentarou to follow less than five or six paces behind him. He also holds his hand out, nodding at the scabbard still belted around Kentarou’s waist. “You should let me hold onto that since I have your sword.”

At that particular reminder, Kentarou bares his teeth. He lowers his hands to unbuckle it himself, but Yahaba shakes his head with a little laugh. “Stop.”

He steps closer, and Kentarou hates that his breath catches. This is the closest the two of them have stood since—Kentarou doesn’t want to call it too long, but the thought echoes in his head regardless. Yahaba’s fingers are quick, too familiar with undressing him, and he pulls the scabbard free a moment later, looking at the rest of Kentarou’s discarded armor with a hum. “I suppose I should help you get properly dressed, shouldn’t I?”

Kentarou wonders if Yahaba will stop being so frustratingly smug by the time they reach their destination, or if his irritating cleverness will end up being the thing that kills him in the end. Yahaba hefts the breastplate in his hands after tucking away Kentarou’s sword, humming. “I’ve never helped you with getting dressed before.”

On the surface, that’s an innocent enough observation, but it still makes Kentarou’s face burn. There’s something intimate about the idea of Yahaba helping him put his armor on, rather than shedding it off in a hurry, and it makes Kentarou squirm given the situation. He leans forward slightly, letting Yahaba settle the plate in place. His arms remain chained, since all he has to do is hold them out straight while Yahaba buckles the thin straps at the sides that hold the front and back together.

Yahaba looks around for a moment after the job is done, still standing too close to Kentarou, one hand resting on the fine engravings at his chest. “Where’s your helmet?”

“Lost it,” Kentarou tilts his head, showing off the new scar on his cheek.“Didn’t really need it anyway.”

With a slight scowl on his face, Yahaba turns away. He mumbles something under his breath that Kentarou doesn’t quite catch, and for a moment he considers pressing to find out what it is.

Yahaba, rather than giving him the chance, starts walking, pulling Kentarou along behind him. “Maybe we’ll find a nice group of bandits I can sell you to.”

As luck has it, they _do_ wind up snared by a group of bandits, or very nearly snared, and they hardly seem as nice as Yahaba was wishing for.

It doesn’t help that Yahaba looks ripe for the picking, with his fancy clothes. The horns might deter some, as would the realization of how closely works for Oikawa, and Kentarou can see Yahaba weighing both things in the back of his mind while the two of them press behind a tall oak, the translucent leaves that give the Glass Forest its name. There’s a slight frown on his face, and he glances at the chain wrapped still around his wrist.

“Can’t slip by them like this,” Kentarou answers for him, doing his best to be as little help as he can. Yahaba gives him a sharp glare for it, biting his tongue to keep himself from scolding Kentarou to be quiet. There are times when their natural instinct to be contrary to one another works to their advantage, but this isn’t one of them. Kentarou smirks in victory, but lowers his voice slightly. “You know I could take care of all of them.”

“Shut up,” Yahaba hisses at him, and Kentarou can see the flash of his fangs beneath his lips. “I’m thinking.”

“That’s sure to help.” Rolling his eyes, Kentarou peers around the trunk of the tree. He can count three of them from where he’s standing, about a dozen feet away and approaching the two of them. Without the coverage of leaves to help hide them, there’s no chance of hiding and not being noticed. “You could turn them all into frogs.”

“I could stab you and get away by myself.” He shoots back, and at that Kentarou shrugs his shoulders.

They both know what the best option here is, he just has to wait for Yahaba to be willing to make that choice for himself.

“I’m not giving you back your stupid sword,” Yahaba snorts, wrapping both his hands around the chains binding Kentarou’s wrists fast. “I’m doing this so I _won’t_ get my throat slit.”

“Don’t need it,” Kentarou takes a step back as soon as the chain loosens around his hands, dropping his pack by Yahaba’s feet.

For a second, he does think about running and leaving Yahaba to whatever happens to him, but the thought leaves his head quickly. There are plenty of reasons he can’t just run, and an attachment to Yahaba himself isn’t one of them. He’d rather have his sword back than waste effort on keeping Yahaba alive.

Yahaba grabs his bag, taking a few steps back from the path while Kentarou rolls his shoulders and lets out a slow breath. This is better than the last time he had to take on bandits unarmed—at least this time he has armor, and a shirt.

He doesn’t wait for them to spot him, but instead steps out onto the path, crossing his arms over his chest. The bandit in the lead stops at the sight of him, cocking his head to the side and holding out an arm to stop the others behind him as well.

“What’s he doin’?” Asks the youngest from the back, leaning to try and see around their leader. “That a knight?”

“Ain’t no knights anymore,” the leader answers with a roll of his eyes, looking back at Kentarou. “All the knights ran off.”

“What’s he supposed to be then?” The other young follower pipes up, and now the leader turns to glower at both of them. 

“It doesn’t matter what he’s _supposed_ to be. You’re not supposed to ask so many questions, you’re just supposed to steal from him!” With none of the three of them looking at him anymore, Kentarou feels just a little foolish standing in the middle of the road with his chest puffed out and his arms crossed, doing his best to look like a threat. He can almost hear Yahaba laughing at him for it, and awkwardly he clears his throat.

The leader wheels, jumping slightly like he had forgotten about Kentarou before glaring at him. “You got gold?”

“No,” Kentarou rolls his eyes. The only two things of value he actually owns are his armor and his sword, and one of those isn’t in his possession at all. He can see, at the far end of the road, where Yahaba slips out behind the young bandits, his eyes hooded by his swooping bangs, and Kentarou quickly shakes his head.

He hopes the gesture goes unnoticed, or at least unnoticed by the bandits. Yahaba hesitates, one of his hands reaching into his slim sleeves, and Kentarou’s stomach sinks at the blades he keeps tucked against his forearms, enchanted to petrify enemies at the slightest slice.

He’d rather not see Yahaba kill a bunch of kids. The bandit in the front looks at him like he’s not sure if he should believe Kentarou or not, and while he’s not very good at this, he tries to just keep talking. “I’m not a knight anymore, so nobody pays me anything.”

Strictly speaking, it’s not a lie. He’s certainly not getting rich off of Iwaizumi’s rebellion. Yahaba finally looks up at him, his eyes narrowing, and Kentarou can see the glint of a blade in his hand.

Kentarou scowls at him, though he’s not usually the best at trying to _avoid_ a fight. So, he does the thing that seems the easiest and takes two quick steps forward, seizing the bandit leader by the shoulders of his shirt and crashing their foreheads together.

For a moment, his vision blurs though his head hardly hurts at all. Yahaba stops his advance at that, staring at Kentarou like he’s gone entirely mad. He lets the unconscious man crumple to the ground, nudging at him slightly with the toe of his boot. “Guess that’s handled.”

“You’re going to addle what’s left of your brain,” Yahaba sighs, tucking the blade away. The two younger bandits leap away from him with separate yelps, wheeling and staring at the demon behind them with expressions of pure terror. Kentarou shrugs his shoulders.

“Didn’t want you to do somethin’ stupid.” He looks back at the two young men, really barely anything more than children. “Take your friend and get lost, unless you want that guy to eat you.”

They obey, of course, scrambling to drag their dazed leader to his feet and half dragging him away. Yahaba shakes his head, sighing. “You’re too soft.”

“They’re kids, there’s no need to hurt’em.” When Yahaba takes a step forward, Kentarou takes one back, and it’s only in that moment that Yahaba realizes he doesn’t have a plan for capturing Kentarou again. His eyes darken immediately, reaching a hand up his sleeve once more.

“Ken,” his voice is soft, a warning, and he’s forgotten to use the irritating formality of Kentarou’s surname. And Kentarou could laugh if the situation weren’t so deadly, at the fact that tiny slip makes his chest feel hollow like his heartbeats are reverberating around empty space. “Don’t do something stupid.”

Doing something stupid is pretty much how Kentarou has lived his life up to this point, and Yahaba’s lips twist further into a frown, drawing the blade from his sleeve slowly.

“You gonna kill me?” Kentarou asks, the two of them eying one another like wary predators. Kentarou isn’t sure he wants to know what the answer would even be. He’s not sure if this fight would turn out in his favor anyway. His jaw clenches into knots, and Yahaba takes a slow step forward.

“Not if I don’t have to. Not if I can help it,” he means to be reassuring, to encourage Kentarou to allow him to slip a noose firmly around his neck. Kentarou’s muscles tense in response to Yahaba’s slight advance. He wonders if he should run, though, in the end, he doesn’t move. His legs feel dead to the call of common sense.

“If you’re gonna try, you could at least give me somethin’ to fight with,” Kentarou eases a step back, and his heart is beating far faster than perhaps it should. He can feel the fear, lurking somewhere in the back of his mind, but worse than that is the fact that he’s _excited_. There’s something thrilling about seeing this side of Yahaba once again, cold and deadly. Kentarou grins. “Toss the sword over, we can have a go of it.”

“Ken,” Yahaba repeats, just as soft as the first time, and if Kentarou had any real hope that he’d make it a fair fight, it fades away quickly. He’s stopped wondering if Yahaba really would kill him.

Kentarou has always hated running from a fight, tail between his legs, but he knows Yahaba well enough to see that he’s over his head here. He knows himself well enough to know he wouldn’t be able to bring down the final blow.

Resolve decided, Kentarou turns and sprints into the forest, weaving between the slender trees and crushing clear leaves beneath his feet.

*** * ***

The second Kyoutani runs, Shigeru wants to pull his hair out and scream at himself for being an idiot. He should have never let him go. He should have known that Kyoutani wouldn’t make things easy—he never does.

And he’d asked if Shigeru was going to kill him, and in that moment Shigeru had to admit to himself that _no, he couldn’t_. He’s an idiot and worse than just being an idiot, he’s a weak idiot on top of it.

Kyoutani Kentarou is not his lover anymore. Kyoutani Kentarou is his enemy.

If only he could convince his heart that it was true.

He chases Kyoutani like a hound after a rabbit, seeing no other choice in the situation. He could, he supposes, just travel on and pretend that he wouldn’t have to deal with Kyoutani later. But in the end, only one of them is going to win this, only one of them is going to bring the sword back and hopefully end this whole stupid war.

Shigeru hates him for all of this. The feeling isn’t new. Shigeru has spent months already on hating Kyoutani—a better use of his time than pining after him would be.

It was Kyoutani’s choice to leave, after all. He’s the traitor, the one who joined Iwaizumi’s rebellion without question, without even thinking about Shigeru…

He prowls between the trees, looking for signs of Kyoutani greater than bent branches and kicked up leaves. He pauses for a moment, closing his eyes and focusing instead on the sounds of the forest around him. There are the regular songs of birds, the rustling of small animals, the breeze through the thin leaves, but he can also hear the wild pounding of Kyoutani’s own heart. He opens his eyes slowly, a smirk growing on his face. “Are we playing a game now, Kyoutani-kun?”

He can hear the uneven hitch of his breathing, growing closer as he stalks through the trees. Shigeru grips the blade tighter in his fist, opening his eyes wide to try to catch every sign of motion.

Kyoutani, leaning his back against the wide trunk of a tree, is struggling to hold himself still. The armor conceals most of his breathing, but Shigeru can still hear him, can still smell the hot blood in his veins. Shigeru cuts towards the tree, dragging the pointed tip of his tongue over one sharp fang in the front of his mouth, all of his muscles wound tight and prepared to strike—

When he comes face to face with Kyoutani, again he hesitates. Kyoutani’s eyes are wide and dark, like a scared animal, and when he sees Shigeru, and the knife, he doesn’t wait for the blow that Shigeru is too weak to deliver. He charges his body forward, hitting the center of Shigeru’s chest with his armored shoulder, sending him sprawling on his back. He coughs, gripping the ache in the center of his chest, but rolls quickly to the side. He kicks out one leg, hooking his foot around the back of Kyoutani’s knee, pulling him to the ground as well.

The impact knocked the blade from his hand, and while he seeks to fumble the other from his sleeve, he rolls himself on top of Kyoutani, knees on either side of his hips. There’s something old and familiar to looking down on him like this, though the expression he wears is one Shigeru has never seen before.

Shigeru thinks that maybe he would try to kill anyone else that managed to make Kyoutani look so afraid. As things are now, he punches him in the jaw instead. His knuckles split Kyoutani’s lip, but before he manages to shake the other blade free, Kyoutani heaves his weight to the side, tossing Shigeru back to the ground. He follows quickly after, his knee colliding with Shigeru’s stomach with enough force that he can feel bile in the back of his throat.

They roll across the floor of the forest like this, trading blows until Shigeru’s throat feels choked with blood and he doubts Kyoutani can see out of his right eye due to the deep scratch leaking blood into it. They’re both panting, and Shigeru wipes blood away from his mouth, watching the snarl on Kyoutani’s face deepen. There is blood staining his teeth, which explains the throbbing gouge on Shigeru’s shoulder. The two of them are crouched on the forest floor, a few feet separating them, each of them waiting for the other to move.

Shigeru’s fingers reach again for his knife, only to find he’s lost that one in their tussling as well. It’s just as well, he’s not sure what he would do with it. Kyoutani’s eyes drop to the sword still strapped around Shigeru’s waist—his sword, and there’s something hard and terrible there.

Seeing the intent plain on his face, Shigeru lunges first. Though he’s much lighter than Kyoutani, he still manages to upend his balance and send the two of them rolling across the ground again. Shigeru narrowly avoids colliding with a tree, landing once again on top of Kyoutani. This time, his thumbs scrape along Kyoutani’s jaw, leaving shallow scratches that rise into angry red welts.

Their eyes lock, and for a long, long moment, the both of them hesitate, panting and bleeding and struggling to understand how they reached this point.

He’s not sure which of them moves first, only that they crash together somewhere in the middle with a kiss that tastes more like blood, frustration, and rage than any kiss rightly should. There’s no kindness to it, and Shigeru knows that they haven’t entirely _stopped_ fighting, only that the battlefield has shifted. He digs a sharp tooth into Kyoutani’s lip, fingers tangling in the short curls of his hair and tugging sharply.

There’s a slight hiss of air against his lips from Kyoutani before they kiss again, and his hands press bruises at Shigeru’s waist through his clothing. Shigeru pushes his tongue past Kyoutani’s lips, tasting the blood that colors his mouth as well, the grip on his hair preventing Kyoutani from escaping. The world tilts strange as Kyoutani stands, taking Shigeru with him and shoving his back against a nearby tree with enough force that he’s sure to bruise blue and purple along his spine.

Shigeru doesn’t care—he doesn’t care about the cuts or bruises on him already, either. He presses his thumb into one at the corner of Kyoutani’s mouth, where his skin has started to swell and turn dark, applying pressure until Kyoutani groans slightly in response. He yanks Shigeru’s hands away from his face, gripping his wrists in one large hand and pinning them to the tree over Shigeru’s head.

He has to swallow down the strangest urge to laugh at all of this. Kyoutani leaves off kissing him, only to bite along the line of Shigeru’s jaw, just shy of breaking the skin each time. It makes the breath flutter in Shigeru’s lungs, leaving his mouth in confused, choked off bursts. He flexes his wrists against Kyoutani’s grip, not with any real intention to escape, but testing him. Kyoutani growls, the sound vibrating against Shigeru’s skin, gripping tighter around his wrists to hold him still. Despite the struggle to breathe, Shigeru’s voice sounds almost normal. “Are you going to do something or just nibble me to death?”

Despite the armor on his legs, Shigeru still presses his hips forward, a little shiver creeping down his spine at the welcome friction against his cock. There’s a slight pause, almost like Kyoutani has to stop to get his bearings before the hand not gripping Shigeru into place slides up his shirt. It’s no longer tucked in neatly due to their fighting, and the back is likely stained from rolling around the ground, so when Kyoutani simply rips the front open and sends tiny white buttons scattering across the forest floor, Shigeru doesn’t consider it any great loss.

Kyoutani’s teeth dig into Shigeru’s collarbone, leaving a perfect imprint behind that’s sure to bruise just as badly as the rest of him. Shigeru pulls his hands free now, and Kyoutani lets him, huffing when Shigeru immediately sets about peeling open the buckles that hold his armor in place. The breastplate clatters noisily to the ground, but Shigeru pays no attention to it, jerking Kyoutani’s shirt over his head just as quickly.

As much as he’d like to, he doesn’t stop to admire the definition of Kyoutani’s muscles or the familiar scars on his chest. Instead, he starts on the buckles along Kyoutani’s legs instead, tossing each piece of armor aside into a pile. He winds up on his knees with Kyoutani above him and the tree behind him, both things that suit Shigeru just fine. Without the armor, it’s evident that Shigeru isn’t the only one enjoying himself. He hooks his fingers into the waist of Kyoutani’s pants, pulling them down slowly and leaning in as if he intends to take Kyoutani’s bared cock into his mouth.

He doesn’t, instead, he bites sharply into the meat of his thigh, inches off from the thick vein that resides there. Kyoutani hisses, leaning forward slightly and gripping Shigeru’s horns in his hands, giving them a slight tug. Shigeru leans back after a moment to admire the mark left behind, licking the blood away from it. He’s only just barely broken the skin, but it’s more than satisfying to see.

Kyoutani gives his horns another tug, failing to be gentle about it, pressing Shigeru’s lips against the head of his cock. Shigeru chuckles, rolling his tongue over the flushed top while thinking to himself that few people would want fangs like Shigeru’s so close to them—especially after a bite like he just left.

A little sigh shivers out of Kyoutani’s mouth and Shigeru presses a nail against the bleeding puncture on his thigh. A large part of him hopes that it scars over shiny and pink so that the next person to use their mouth on him will know that he still belongs to Shigeru.

He slides the head of Kyoutani’s cock into his mouth, letting it rub on the fleshy inside of his cheek. Kyoutani leaves off holding onto his horns to lace his fingers in the thin silver locks of his hair. His hips jerk forward slightly, pushing Shigeru’s mouth further down on his cock, and Shigeru doesn’t complain. Kyoutani thrusts forward again, and when Shigeru looks up at him, his eyes are just starting to flutter shut.

Shigeru feels strangely like he’s standing on the precipice of something very high, his stomach sweeping strangely. He recalls the two of them in bed, just at dawn, with the light splashing golden along the walls, trying to count the dark eyelashes that framed Kyoutani’s closed eyes. He jerks his head back suddenly, his eyes stinging at the tug on his hair.

Kyoutani threw so much away when he left—Shigeru is sure he’ll hate him for the rest of his life for it. He stands, smirking as he smashes their lips together again, digging in the pocket of his own pants and swallowing the confused sound that Kyoutani makes. In his pocket, luckily not lost in the fight, is a small bottle of oil, the enchanted sort that’s used on small wounds to help them heal. He’s glad to find it there—whet he has in mind would be much more difficult without it.

He passes it into Kyoutani’s hand, shoving his own pants down and quickly kicking them off his legs before they have a chance to tangle and trip him. Kyoutani is quick to pick up the hint this time, his fingers gripping around Shigeru’s thigh and lifting his leg to wrap around Kyoutani’s waist. He pulls the cork out of the bottle with his teeth, spitting it to the side before spilling some of the sweet smelling oil onto his fingers. He reaches his hand between Shigeru’s legs, pressing his slicked fingers against the tight muscle of his entrance, stroking his skin slightly.

Shigeru nearly growls at him, pulling Kyoutani into another kiss in the hopes that it’ll be enough to get him to move a little more quickly. When that doesn’t work, he nips his way to Kyoutani’s ear instead, digging his teeth into the lobe of it before hissing words there. “If you don’t hurry up, I’ll do it myself.”

The corners of Kyoutani’s lips twitch into a smirk, one that Shigeru would like very much to wipe off of his face, but he relents and presses his finger inside slowly. Shigeru tries his hardest not to think of anything at all, not about the slight burn in his muscles or the fact that Kyoutani has been the only person to touch him like this in far, far longer than he can name.

Kyoutani’s lips on his shoulder are almost what could be called gentle, and Shigeru almost opens his mouth to argue, to say something to remind Kyoutani of the situation, but Kyoutani selects that moment to press in another finger and Shigeru winds up groaning instead, closing his mouth quickly to stifle the sound. He bites down too hard on his lip, opening a split already there from their fight and tasting blood on his tongue once more. It doesn’t bother him, not really.

When he starts to spread his two fingers apart, Kyoutani shakes his head against Shigeru’s shoulder with a little grunt, one hand still holding his leg firmly in place. “Fuck—why are you so tight?”

He’s not sure if the question is genuine or not, so Shigeru keeps his mouth shut. His nails dig welts into the back of Kyoutanis shoulders, feeling the flex and pull of his muscles as he does, tilting his head back against the tree. “You’re so slow. C’mon.”

Shigeru is almost embarrassed by the way his voice sounds, low and graveled with need, but Kyoutani makes a sympathetic sound in return, his teeth worrying the soft skin of Shigeru’s collarbone without malice, almost without intent at all, and he so badly wants to forget the last six months.

It’s always been true that the both of them are too stubborn, and Shigeru has never been good at letting things go—but for now, just for this moment, he’s willing to loosen his grip a little. Kyoutani’s fingers brush lightly against his prostate when his wrist twists and Shigeru’s hips jerk like he’s been shocked. “Ken!”

Kyoutani hums like he’s acknowledging what Shigeru is asking for, and he works his third finger in slowly as well, kissing Shigeru again to quiet the stream of complaining noises coming out of his mouth. It’s rare that Shigeru comes so easily undone. Usually, it’s the reverse, with Shigeru using his patience and knowledge to reduce Kyoutani into a crying, shaking mess before giving him any relief. Still, the situation is hardly normal, and Shigeru’s body feels like a wire pulled too tight, inches from snapping. Kyoutani gives his prostate another weak stroke before Shigeru growls in frustration before shoving his weight forward and sending them both sprawling on the grass so hard that Kyoutani coughs slightly at the impact.

Shigeru frowns at the sudden empty sensation in his stomach but rescues the half-spilled bottle of oil from Kyoutani’s hand, slicking his own palm and pumping it over Kyoutani’s cock slowly, watching him bite down hard on his lip to try to keep from making a sound. He’s glaring at Shigeru, who simply shrugs his shoulders in return. “I told you to hurry.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Kyoutani sighs, but he sounds almost _fond_ when he says it. Shigeru huffs, lining his hips up above Kyoutani before sinking himself down too quick for comfort. He grits his teeth, watching Kyoutani’s eyes flutter and the muscles of his stomach clench, trying to keep himself from thrusting into the tight heat of Shigeru by sheer force of will. Shigeru’s hips burn, but he ignores the pain, rolling them slowly. He likes this better, feeling less like he’s at Kyoutani’s mercy.

Kyoutani’s fingers scrape along the ground before he grips Shigeru’s thighs again, adjusting his legs to give himself more leverage. Shigeru doesn’t wait for him to get properly situated, he continues rolling his hips slowly, swallowing down another groan as the burn fades and instead he just feels _full_. He can’t keep himself from looking down at Kyoutani, the way he looks thinner than he used to but no less strong. Shigeru runs his fingers over the more prominent bones of his ribcage, feeling Kyoutani’s back bow slightly into his touch.

He thrusts his hips up in return, holding tightly to Shigeru’s thighs like he’s worried something terrible might happen if he were to let go. Shigeru leans forward slightly, laying his hands in the center of Kyoutani’s chest for balance, bouncing his hips much harder now, nails digging into his skin. He can feel himself making sound—groaning and babbling out _Ken_ far more than he’d like to, but he can’t seem to make himself stop. He tries, lifting one hand away to cover his mouth, biting into the side of his hand, only to have Kyoutani reach up and pull it down, lacing their fingers together.

Shigeru couldn’t honestly say that he wants to let go. He grinds his hips downward, letting his head fall back between his shoulders when he finally finds the proper angle to push the blunt head of Kyoutani’s cock against his prostate, making his legs feel weak and his vision spark with the sudden heat in his stomach. Kyoutani hardly fares any better, fucking his hips up into Shigeru with deep, punishing thrusts. 

A shudder works its way down Shigeru’s spine, and he lifts their entwined fingers, wrapping Kyoutani’s rough palm around his cock and arching his hips into it. Kyoutani doesn’t need anything more to get the hint, though he keeps his strokes slow deliberately, tormenting. Shigeru’s nails dig into his skin, trying to encourage him to go faster, though he gasps as Kyoutani’s thumb lingers on the head of his cock, spreading the slick mess that’s gathered there and rubbing the sensitive skin around his slit.

“Ken,” it comes out in a whine, soft and imploring, and there’s something in Kyoutani’s half opened eyes that Shigeru doesn’t want to try to put a name to. His lips part slightly, releasing Shigeru’s thigh to push himself to sit upright, kissing Shigeru again.

There’s something different about it this time; the way Kyoutani’s tongue presses slow and sweet into his mouth. They stay like that as Shigeru comes, his lips slightly slack, more passing air between the two of them then really kissing. Kyoutani passes his fingers through the mess of sweat and come on Shigeru’s stomach, spreading it further. He continues thrusting his hips, with Shigeru’s head leaning on his shoulder. His skin feels too tight, like it’s stretched across his bones and close to breaking, oversensitive.

Kyoutani finishes with his lips pressed against the crown of Shigeru’s head, a gesture that’s embarrassingly tender, and his thumb stroking small circles in Shigeru’s back, trying to soothe as he whines a slight complaint. They slump there together for a long moment, both trying to catch their breath, unsteady and unsure where exactly they’re supposed to go next.

They travel no further for the day, and by the time night settles around them, they’re in a cave that feels almost familiar to Shigeru, freshly cleaned and changed.

Things feel… different. Almost right, almost okay. He doesn’t chain Kyoutani’s hands once again, and the two of them use the water of a nearby stream to wash clean. Shigeru splashes water at Kyoutani’s back, for no other reason than he _can_ and Kyoutani finds it annoying. He finds himself having to bite down on his smile.

The cave they take shelter in for the night feels almost familiar to Shigeru, though he can’t explain to himself why. Kyoutani builds a small fire near the mouth of it for warmth, and Shigeru settles with his pack leaning against the wall, supporting his back.

Kyoutani huffs at him, rolling his eyes, but Shigeru doesn’t care. He slides his arms around Kyoutani’s neck and kisses him again, more properly this time, sliding his tongue along the seam of Kyoutani’s lips.

They scrounge up supper from what they have already in their packs, eating with their legs pressed together and their elbows gently bumping. When they eventually settle down to sleep, it’s pressed in close with Shigeru’s arms wrapped around Kyoutani’s waist, chin hooked over his shoulder. Kyoutani seems uncertain for a moment, but he relaxes back into the embrace slowly, no doubt enjoying how familiar it feels.

When Shigeru wakes in the morning, to the dreadfully early screaming of birds in the forest, the fire has burnt to ash and Kyoutani, along with his pack and the map, is gone


	2. mess is mine

It feels strange, almost wrong, to leave Yahaba before the sun even rises, and in truth, Kentarou doesn’t want to go at all.

Still, he carefully extracts himself from the warm comfort of having Yahaba wrapped around him and quietly packs his things. The fire is burnt to nothing but glowing orange embers, but Kentarou doesn’t try to coax it back to life. As an afterthought, he takes Yahaba’s map as well. He saw how the enchantment worked, though he’s not sure human blood will be sufficient. Making sure Yahaba doesn’t have it is nearly reason enough to take it, Kentarou figures.

When he sets off, he’s surprised by how much his whole body hurts. He’s bruised all over from fighting with Yahaba, and his stomach and legs feel battered as well. His right eye is swollen almost shut, and there are bite marks in far more visible places than he would like. All in all, the encounter was not as forgettable as Kentarou was hoping it would be.

This is the second time he’s left Yahaba before dawn, and this time the betrayal of it is far more personal. Yahaba will continue to hate him, he’s sure, and Kentarou has to tell himself all over again that it doesn’t hurt.

He’s not sure of the time, but the forest is dark and strangely still, and Kentarou can hardly wait to leave it behind him. Scared of waking Yahaba, he left his armor behind but took his sword along. As it is, he has only a thin shirt and his pants, along with his sturdy boots. He’s traveled in worse condition before, but the plan hinges on him getting the sword Iwaizumi needs before Yahaba can catch up and kill him for it.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Kentarou sighs to himself. If it were up to him, none of this would be happening. There has to be another way for the two of them to put this stupid trouble behind them—Kenma has suggested before that it might be possible to clear the darkness from Oikawa’s mind, to return him to the person he’s meant to be. Iwaizumi has refused to hear it. Maybe he believes that part of Oikawa is gone, Kentarou isn’t sure.

Part of him wishes he’d asked Yahaba if it would be possible if there was anything better they could do.

In the darkness, with his head full, Kentarou doesn’t notice the moment he wanders through the path, nor does he notice the perfectly circular ring of mushrooms into which he places his foot.

His head swims, and when he goes to take his next step, he finds himself stuck. He looks down, seeing the ring, and groans loudly. Faeries are hardly what he wants to run into, especially already sore and half-beaten. He gives his leg a half-hearted jerk, trying to free it, but he can already hear them approaching, their pale feet whispering over the grass and fallen leaves.

The tallest of them has to be over seven feet, and they look down at Kentarou with their thin lips spread into a smile, pin-like teeth showing in the half-light of the approaching morning. Kentarou does not smile in return.

“Looks like we caught ourselves a wayward mortal,” their voice is like dry leaves rustling, and Kentarou can see two other fey behind him. All three of them have the same pale green skin and thin hair. They look much like plants, overall, with green leaves like ivy wrapping around their bared legs. “What a fun plaything this one will be.”

“Fuck off.” Kentarou’s hand goes immediately toward his sword, at which the tallest fey hisses in displeasure. They lift a hand, and thick roots from the trees surrounding them crawl out of the ground, soil still clinging to them, wrapping around Kentarou’s legs and trapping his arms by his waist. They turn to their followers, hissing something in a language that Kentarou doesn’t understand before gesturing at Kentarou.

The two of them leap into action, pulling Kentarou’s pack off of his shoulders and relieving him once more of his sword. In the dawn light, the fey tilts it this way and that to examine the old blade before making several fake stabs and parries in the empty air. All three of them laugh. Kentarou grits his teeth, flexing his arm against the tight hold of the roots. The other fey sets his bag on the ground, digging through it. Kentarou doesn’t have much with him; some food, spare clothes, oil for his armor and sword, a few assorted first aid items slipped in by Kenma or Yachi—

The fey, Kentarou isn’t sure if they are male or female, or how he’s supposed to tell the difference between them, pulls the map out of his bag, and Kentarou’s mouth suddenly feels dry. They stop, turning the blank page this way and that, staring at it through narrowed eyes. They lean forward, thin nostrils flaring as they sniff at it.

“Magic,” they turn to hand it to the leader, a smirk on their face. “Demon magic, even. This toy has been playing with dangerous things.”

Kentarou keeps his mouth firmly shut, furiously trying to remember the rules that Iwaizumi explained to him for dealing with fey creatures. It was a long time ago, when Kentarou was still training to be a knight, and he was never very good at diplomacy. He knows the general rules for anything non-human; eat no food, make no bargains, and don’t start out interactions by being rude.

He’s managed to adhere to two of the three so far. At least they aren’t like tengu, who would have likely already eviscerated him for swearing. Still, Kentarou isn’t sure it’s a good idea to push his luck any further. They speak quickly at each other, and Kentarou doesn’t manage to catch a word of it, though he can feel their pale eyes on him the whole time. Debating what to do with him. He wonders if claiming that his lover is a demon likely to come hunting for him would do any good.

It’s true that demons are known for mating for life, even with humans, and being fiercely protective of the people they select. It’s also true that Kentarou was never Yahaba’s mate, to begin with. They had skirted around the topic once or twice, but it’s not like Yahaba ever asked, and now…

Now it’s far more likely that Yahaba will either be chasing down the map or hoping to kill Kentarou himself.

“We take him,” the leader finally decides, pointed blue tongue wetting their thin lips. “He will be fun, I can tell.”

Kentarou doesn’t want to know what kind of fun they have in mind. The tallest fey smiles at him, and Kentarou feels his stomach sink. Their tone feels like an order, and Kentarou does his best to struggle his way free from the roots holding him before he feels the butt of his own sword against the back of his head and things go dark.

When he wakes, nothing around him is familiar. He tries to sit up, to move, only to find even more roots wrapping around him, holding him firmly on his knees with cool earth underneath him. Kentarou hangs his head forward with a groan, tugging at his arms only to find those immobilized as well.

Things are hardly going his way, at this point. Kentarou lifts his head slowly, squinting his eyes at the light streaming between the trees. There seem to be small huts growing out of the trees high above him, and he can hear the tiny rustling footstep of the fey. Too tired to struggle further, Kentarou slumps against the branches holding his arms fast and tight behind him, letting his chin sink toward his chest. It’s not typically in him to give up so quickly, but he’s tired, and his head hurts, and he needs to _think_ his way out of the situation, something that faces him with a greater challenge than he’d like to undertake at the moment.

The tall fey from before kneels in front of him, and when Kentarou doesn’t lift his head, they hiss through their sharp teeth, long fingers tangling in his hair and jerking his head upward with a snarl. “Thirsty?”

Kentarou frowns at the question, but he finds suddenly that he _is_ thirsty, like he’s been wandering the desert for days. The fey grins at him, lifting a leaf shaped like a cup and holding it close to his lips. The liquid inside is dark and rich as blood, and Kentarou’s throat constricts at the sight of it. He’s clinging to the lesson Iwaizumi spent days driving into the minds of all his trainee’s—no food or drink. Offer no bargains and make no promises.

Growling, Kentarou shakes his head roughly against the tight hold the fey has on his head, keeping his mouth firmly shut. The fey chuckles, releasing Kentarou’s head and drinking the wine themselves, licking the stray drops of it away from their lips. “Excellent.”

The roots start to uncoil, and Kentarou pitches forward, glad when his hands are freed first to allow him to catch himself, rather than ending up face first in the soft soil. They lay dormant on the ground once more, and Kentarou picks himself up with a groan, stretching his muscles and glaring at the fey now watching him with their strange, pale eyes.

Kentarou doesn’t beg for his freedom, and when a makeshift knife is tossed at his feet, he stoops slowly to pick it up. The tall fey looks down at him and laughs. “You’re a fighter, yes? We’d like to see.”

And that, at least, suits Kentarou just fine. He grips the knife in one hand, the blade facing toward his back. It feels strangely light in his grasp like his hand alone might be enough to snap the silver blade from the wooden handle. The tall fey steps back, pressing one of their hands to the ground. The earth rumbles softly under their touch, and the roots lift to create a cage around Kentarou, the bars almost as thick as his chest.

There’s a quiet growling noise, and Kentarou whirls to find what looks to be a giant cat of some kind. Rather than fur, it sports leaves that tip red at the ends, standing slightly on end like raised hackles. It’s mouth, however, is plenty full of sharp canines, with two massive saber teeth curling slightly backward. Kentarou sets his feet firmly on the ground, watching every move the large predator makes.

It’s a testament perhaps to all the times that Yahaba has mocked him for being little better than an animal himself because Kentarou and the strange cat lunge for one another at the same time.

 

The fey keeping him jeer at him through all three bouts they force him to fight, and Kentarou breaks the small knife half way through the second and isn’t granted another one.

It’s after night falls that they tire of watching him, and take him and his battered body to a different, smaller wooden cage to spend the night. Kentarou doesn’t have the energy left to try and struggle his way free as he’s shoved in. His last good shirt has been torn to bloody shreds, and there are several deep scratches on his chest that continue to ooze blood. There’s hardly enough room in the cage for him to stand, and so instead he sits, leaning his bruised back against one of the wooden bars and closing his eyes.

It’s the sound that brings Kentarou out of his dazed, half sleeping state. Like the call of a bird, almost. Close enough to fool an unfamiliar ear. But Kentarou’s ear is all too familiar with it—a signal. He sits up, moving too quickly and groaning as his injuries catch up with him. He has to clear his throat several times before he can manage to make the sound in return, and even then it comes out uneven and slightly strange.

Kentarou feels foolish for trying. The signal was his and Yahaba’s, used when they were separated or unable to communicate with words. Kentarou squints, trying to peer into the darkness around him and see if Yahaba is there.

Several long minutes tick by with no movement, and Kentarou’s sudden burst of hope fades with it. He sighs, shoulders slumping, leaning back against the side of the cage once more. He’ll get himself out of this—he’s always managed on his own before. He doesn’t _need_ Yahaba Shigeru to come save him. He grumbles as much out loud, and when it’s met by amused chuckling from behind him, he nearly jumps clear out of his skin.

“You sure about that?” Yahaba hisses, keeping his voice low, though there’s a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “I can leave you to it.”

“Shut up, asshole,” Kentarou grumbles, the tips of his ears feeling hot. It takes him more effort to sit upright this time, and he can see the darkness that creeps into Yahaba’s gaze. Kentarou frowns, shaking his head and reaching his hand through one of the gaps in the cage, grabbing Yahaba’s arm. “I’m fine. Just open it.”

Kentarou has seen before, the results of Yahaba’s anger when one of the members of their small team was taken and tortured. He’d rather not have to see it again. Yahaba nods, though the frown on his face shows the tip of one of his fangs. He presses both hands to the base of the cage, closing his eyes and murmuring words softly to himself. Kentarou has never really understood the language that the demons speak among themselves—only that it makes his head ache and his ears burn to hear. 

The bars burst into sizzling, bright orange flames that consume enough of them to allow Kentarou to slip out, singeing the hair on his arms in the process. He frowns slightly but decides against complaining about the rescue.

When he tries to stand, his legs refuse to cooperate, and Yahaba stands above him for a moment, taking in the sorry state of him with a sigh and shake of his head. “I should go kill all of them.”

He says it like it would be no great burden, and like it wouldn’t cause them any trouble later if he did. Kentarou rolls his eyes, picking himself up slowly. “Do whatever you want.”

He isn’t anything of Yahaba’s.

Yahaba shifts, pulling Kentarou’s arm around his shoulders to support his weight, winding an arm around his waist. “How do you always manage to get into these situations, anyway?”

There’s a smile curving up one side of his cheek, and Kentarou almost wants to laugh, letting Yahaba support him as he walks. “I didn’t particularly wanna wake up dead.”

“You can’t wake up dead, you idiot,” Yahaba scowls, and Kentarou opens his mouth to argue only to realize he nearly missed the softness in Yahaba’s tone. He closes his mouth, swallowing instead.

“You didn’t go after the sword.” He could have easily taken it and left Kentarou, and it doesn’t answer the question of how he knew Kentarou was in trouble, to begin with—

“They left your bag by the mushroom trap.” He answers the question that Kentarou didn’t ask, peering out of the corner of his eye before focusing on the woods ahead of them again. “Wasn’t that hard to guess; you’re exactly the kind of mortal that would blunder right into it.”

“They took my sword,” Kentarou grumbles, leaning his head slightly on Yahaba’s shoulder. Yahaba laughs softly at that, his fingers tightening on Kentarou’s side.

“I got it back.”

 

They find a cabin that seems mostly abandoned, though, from the way that Yahaba shoulders through the door, Kentarou isn’t sure it would matter if the owner were home or not. He lays Kentarou out on the bed, taking in the sight of him with a sigh and a shake of his head. “I’m gonna have to patch you up, aren’t I?”

“Don’t bother,” Kentarou sits up on his elbow, doing his best to glare at Yahaba. “It’ll save you the effort of getting rid of me later.”

For a moment, Yahaba doesn’t respond. Kentarou huffs, shaking his head and sitting up all the way, starting to push himself off of the bed entirely. “I guess you don’t wanna let someone else have all the fun, huh?”

Yahaba shoves him back down, none too gentle about it, scowling at Kentarou. “Hold still.”

“Fuck you,” Kentarou shoots back, though he’s dreading the idea of getting into a fight with Yahaba once more. In no small part because he’s not likely to win this one, and it’s even less likely that their anger will subside and they’ll simply screw again instead.

“I’m trying to _help_ you!” Yahaba snaps, though he allows Kentarou to stand this time. Still unsteady on his feet, Kentarou is sure that all his yelling and glaring isn’t going to get him very far. It doesn’t matter. He’ll walk if he has to. He’ll fight if he has to. Kentarou, above all else, has always done whatever he had to in order to survive. Yahaba deflates, but only slightly, his shoulders still straight and stubborn. “Would you please let me do that? For once.”

“I don’t trust you,” Kentarou grumbles, though his legs are shaking under him. Yahaba rolls his eyes, helping Kentarou sit on the edge of the bed once more.

“You’ve made that plenty clear already.” He kneels in front of Kentarou, easing the sad remains of his shirt off of his shoulders. He inhales a surprised hiss of breath at the deep scratches across Kentarou’s chest, and the smaller ones on his arms in the rough arch of bites.

With Yahaba in front of him, Kentarou has little choice but to stare down at his face while he digs the bandages from Kenma out of his bag, probably rescued from his things after the fey simply left them. He starts by wrapping Kentarou’s arm, his fingers quick and careful.

When the spelled cloth comes into contact with Kentarou’s injured flesh, it stings enough to make him cringe, wrinkling his nose, though he decides not to complain.

“This is why you should quit leaving me behind,” Yahaba grumbles, low enough that Kentarou is sure he wasn’t meant to hear it. It cuts far deeper than any of his injuries all the same.

“I didn’t—” Kentarou starts, but the denial of it tastes like a lie on his tongue. He snaps his mouth shut quickly, and Yahaba looks at him, one eyebrow raised. “It wasn’t about you. I wanted you to come with me.”

“It doesn’t really matter if it was about me or not, does it?” Yahaba shakes his head, moving to Kentarou’s other arm now. “I’m still the thing you left behind.”

It’s pointless to argue that Yahaba should have come with him, but Kentarou can’t swallow his pride enough to let the subject lie, either. “You plan to die for Oikawa, then?”

“No,” Yahaba says, but Kentarou can tell that it isn’t quite the truth, either. He would if he had to.

“He’s lost it, you know.” Kentarou flexes his arm when Yahaba finishes wrapping it, laying down when Yahaba presses gently on his shoulder.

With his eyes and hands focused on the work in front of him, Yahaba’s voice is soft. “Oikawa-san needed me to stay.”

He keeps his teeth grit, this time to keep from saying something stupid in return. The moment feels fragile, like the two of them rest on a tipping point of sorts. Yahaba pauses, sighing and shaking his head slightly. “I know you don’t get it, but if someone hadn’t stayed with him… he’d be much more out of control than he is now.”

“You think you can control him?” Kentarou asks but immediately wishes that he hadn’t.

“No. But I think he trusts me, and I know I can _help_ him.” He gives Kentarou a little glare, and this time Kentarou just nods his head slightly in return. Yahaba waits a moment, and Kentarou tries to think of something to say. When he fails, Yahaba chuckles, though it sounds thick and choked, almost like a sob. “You know, I’ve spent this whole time hating you.”

At that, Kentarou pauses before nodding his head slightly. He didn’t expect anything less, not really. “I missed you.”

He says it without thinking, too honest as always, and it’s only when Yahaba glares sharply at him that he thinks maybe it was the wrong thing for him to have said. He digs his fingers into the sheets, tilting his head back and frowning at the cabin’s wooden roof. Kentarou wishes that he could somehow stop making an even bigger mess of this relationship. “You know Iwaizumi doesn’t wanna kill him.”

“He can’t make peace by threatening to,” Yahaba rolls his eyes, but sighs softly after a moment. “Yes, I know Iwaizumi doesn’t want to. But he will if he thinks he has to.”

The way he says it makes Kentarou think there might be another option, one that Yahaba himself has been considering. Yahaba ties off the last of the bandages, leaving Kentarou’s chest carefully wrapped in them, sighing and dropping his hands to his lap. “Oikawa-san needs someone to purify him. It’s all the magic he uses that’s causing the problem, but he refuses to see it.”

“Who could do that?” Kentarou’s head cocks to the side. Yahaba scowls slightly, rubbing his fingers over one of the remaining bandages.

“Kenma, if someone could get him there safely.” Yahaba sighs hard, his shoulders slumping. “Kuroo would let Kenma walk straight into the treasury if he wanted to. It’s Oikawa that’s the hard part.”

“But Kenma could do it?” Kentarou asks, scratching the back of his head. The idea worries him slightly; Kenma is one of the few close friends that Kentarou has, and the idea of sending him to face down Oikawa is scary.

“Yes,” Yahaba says, putting the bandages away and standing finally. “It could be done.”

Kentarou can sense the conversation coming to an end, and he realizes he doesn’t know where this leaves the two of them. He swallows, reaching out and catching Yahaba's hand before he's able to go, fingers locked firmly around his thin wrist.

“I love you.” He keeps his head down as he says it, not sure how to meet Yahaba's eyes. It's the first time he's managed to say as much, at least in words. Weeks before Iwaizumi split from Oikawa, and before Kentarou decided to follow him, he'd spent an entire night on guard duty mumbling the tiny phrase to himself, trying to get accustomed to the way it felt in his mouth.

He couldn't work up the courage for it before, and he always caught himself hoping that Yahaba _knew_ , that he could read it as plainly on Kentarou's face as any other emotion.

Yahaba sighs softly, but he doesn't try to pull away. He turns, slowly, resting one hand on the side of Kentarou's bruised face, and kisses him, small and sweet.

“Finish this first, then we'll talk.”

*** * ***

In spite of his words, Shigeru spends the night in the bed with Kyoutani wrapped in his arms. Perhaps it's cruel, in light of his confession; Shigeru isn't sure there's really a happy ending in this for the two of them. They've agreed to retrieve the sword together and to take it back to Iwaizumi on the condition that it only be used as a last possible resort.

Shigeru tells himself that he's not betraying Oikawa, not really. He's there to make sure Iwaizumi doesn't do anything rash, and to make sure Kenma gets into the castle safely.

Still, he isn't sure Oikawa won't kill him for it if they should fail.

Kyoutani is not quite asleep either—Shigeru can tell from his breathing. Shigeru has his lips pressed to the top of Kyoutani's head before he really thinks about it. If they should fail—is it fair to plan for his own death without giving Kyoutani a real answer?

“Ken,” Shigeru whispers against the top of his head, and Kyoutani stirs slightly in response, shifting so he can look Shigeru in the face. The swelling around his eye has started to ease, and Shigeru presses a soft kiss to his brow.

Kyoutani draws in a breath like he's going to say something like he's going to argue somehow, but Shigeru kisses him again, at the corner of his eye. He continues, pressing his lips to Kyoutani's cheek, the top of his nose, at the edge of his mouth.

He can remember clearly when the last time he kissed Kyoutani properly was; the night before Iwaizumi stormed out and his knights followed him, showing all too clearly where their loyalties were. Kyoutani had kissed him before reporting for duty, with his fingers soft in Shigeru's hair, and Shigeru hadn't once thought it meant goodbye.

But now, Kyoutani is here. With him. And Shigeru has never been much good at resisting his possessive urges. He shifts, laying over Kyoutani now, careful not to put too much weight on his chest, hovering their lips a few inches apart. Kyoutani leans forward slightly, trying to catch Shigeru in a kiss, and Shigeru leans back slightly, avoiding him.

“Ken,” he draws it out this time, slower and more teasing. “I want you to be _mine_ now.”

Kyoutani groans slightly at that, sounding almost like the idea wounds him. Shigeru kisses the edge of his jaw, pressing his teeth lightly into one of the bruises there. Kyoutani's breath hitches, but rather than return to his parted lips, Shigeru continues down the side of his neck instead. “Do you understand? I want you to follow me.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Kyoutani nods his head before turning to the side, seeking a kiss. Shigeru denies him still, sliding his thumb along Kyoutani's bandaged chest, kissing each bruise already left on his collarbone. He plans to take his time now that he has the time to take, though Kyoutani hardly seems to have much patience for Shigeru relishing each kiss. Shigeru peppers kisses along his shoulders, his thumbs teasing idly in the waist of Kyoutani's pants.

To himself, Shigeru smirks. “Don't tell me this is why you went chasing after Iwaizumi-san, is it?”

He presses his palm against the bulge at the front of Kyoutani's pants, grinding it down slightly until Kyoutani groans at the welcome friction. Still, he's focused enough to shake his head in response, and as much as Shigeru appreciates the thought, that just won’t do. He continues teasing his hand there, not pressing down enough be satisfying, scratching his nails lightly down Kyoutani’s side. “That’s good, Ken.”

The effect of Kyoutani glaring up at him for the remark is ruined by the bright red blush spread across his face, and the restless way his fingers grip the bed under him. Shigeru smirks, leaning closer, letting his lips press lightly against the shell of Kyoutani’s ear, voice low. “Oh, that’s right, you like hearing that don’t you?”

As if he’d forgotten about it. Kyoutani huffs, unlatching his fingers from the sheets to grip Shigeru’s sides, his thumbs working in small, unconscious circles. “Would you—”

He seems like he isn’t certain what to ask for, and Shigeru grins a little more widely down at him. “Would I what?”

“Hurry up,” Kyoutani growls, trying to lean forward and catch Shigeru in a kiss again. Shigeru avoids him once more but nips his ear lightly for the effort. Still, he sits up, pulling his own shirt over his head, glad that he can at least salvage one from being ruined. It’s been awhile, he thinks, since he’s seen Kyoutani so beaten up. But then, it’s been awhile since he’s seen Kyoutani at all. Kyoutani seems satisfied that Shigeru is at least starting to undress, sliding his hands up his bared back, fingers spread to chart over as much skin as possible.

This time, it feels something like coming home. Shigeru arches his hips slightly forward, his knees pressing the bed on either side of Kyoutani’s hips, pressing them together at the groin. Kyoutani grunts in return, dropping one of his hands to squeeze Shigeru’s ass and tug his hips forward once more, grinding them together. The friction makes sparks shiver at the corner of Shigeru’s eyes, his lips parting slightly around a sound he forces back down his throat.

He’s not so easily distracted as Kyoutani is, and he tugs himself away reluctantly. Kyoutani whines slightly at that, his hands still holding tight to Shigeru until they’re peeled off. Shigeru chuckles softly at the putout expression on his face, stroking over Kyoutani’s stomach with his thumbs before drawing his pants down slowly. Kyoutani lifts his hips off the bed to help, and Shigeru bends forward, kissing his stomach as well.

Kyoutani’s breath comes in and out in hard pants, and the front of his underwear is stained dark and wet from the leaking of his cock. Shigeru rubs his thumb along the spot, smiling when Kyoutani’s hands lift to lace in his hair. There’s no sharp, demanding tugs to it this time. Instead, he strokes Shigeru’s hair between his fingers, struggling to hold onto his composure.

His composure has never been of much interest to Shigeru, who plants a kiss at the deep bite he left on Kyoutani’s thigh the day before. Kyoutani’s breath hitches slightly, making it obvious he knows exactly what Shigeru is doing. Shigeru scrapes his teeth lightly against the healing patch like a threat, grinning against his skin when Kyoutani’s hands tighten slightly in his hair. “Does that feel good, hmm?”

He repeats the motion, just for the way it makes Kyoutani whine and shift his hips, drawing the point of his tongue over the spot as well. Kyoutani shifts, his thighs falling further apart and his teeth digging white lines into his lower lip.

It’s a strange comfort, that Kyoutani’s face looks exactly as he remembers in moments like this. Shigeru sits up, reaching out to his pack sitting next to the bed and pulling out the half used bottle of oil, looking down at Kyoutani with a wide smirk on his lips. Kyoutani’s brow furrows slightly at it like he’s thinking too hard about something, and Shigeru slides a hand up his leg, widening them enough to fit himself between them. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of Kyoutani’s underwear, but he’s surprised when Kyoutani reaches a hand out to stop him. “Why are you doing this?”

Kyoutani sees too much of him, he always has. Even when he doesn’t know it, he manages to peer past the masks that Shigeru wears and see whatever he’s trying to hide beneath. Shigeru has always been adverse to being seen so plainly, and it’s part of the reason that he and Kyoutani didn’t get along well, to begin with. He does his best not to scowl. “Because I want to.”

“Bullshit,” Kyoutani sits up on his elbows, his shoulders shaking slightly from the strain, though he doesn’t allow Shigeru to stop him either. “You said after we finish all of this, and now you’re…”

He gestures at the two of them, and Shigeru bites down on his lip. He knows well enough that Kyoutani won’t appreciate him saying that he doesn’t want to leave things between them ambiguous if he doesn’t make it out of this. Kyoutani Kentarou isn’t the type to plan for what might happen if he fails. He has never been. He focuses only on success and lets the rest fall into place. Shigeru has never been able to match that side of him, and in the face of it, he wavers.

The last thing he wants is to let this chance slip away to the two of them having another fight. He reaches, his fingers catching the back of Kyoutani’s neck and pulling him in close, sealing their lips together. Kyoutani makes a surprised noise against Shigeru’s mouth, his hands hovering in mid-air like he’s not sure what to do about the kiss itself. Shigeru doesn’t let him think about it, pressing his tongue past Kyoutani’s parted lips and curling it behind his teeth, rubbing the roof of Kyoutani’s mouth.

It draws a short groan out of Kyoutani, who reaches to pull Shigeru closer to him, pushing his tongue back against Shigeru’s. Shigeru presses him to lay down once more, concerned about Kyoutani leaning all of his weight on his arms. He kisses Kyoutani again, taking advantage of the distraction and sliding his underwear down as well. Kyoutani doesn’t argue this time, instead, he shifts his hips to help, his legs spreading apart more easily now.

Maybe this is all it takes for Kyoutani to understand. Shigeru hopes that’s true—Kyoutani has always used his actions to communicate, after all, and Shigeru knew for years the things that Kyoutani couldn’t make himself say. He keeps his lips pressed against Kyoutani’s open mouth, though his attention is less on kissing and more on slicking oil over his fingers and sliding the first inside, nipping at Kyoutani’s lower lip when he arches his back. “Be still. You’re going to hurt yourself more.”

Kyoutani huffs a little laugh at that, though he lays flat once again. Yahaba slides his other hand along Kyoutani’s chest, feeling where the bandages give way once more to soft skin. His fingers wrap around one of Kyoutani’s thighs, lifting it to drape over his shoulder and allowing him to sink his finger in deeper. Kyoutani’s head tilts back, his eyes fluttering as he groans once more, biting his lip like he’s not sure he should be making so much noise.

But they aren’t in the castle with the risk of their privacy being ruined by prying ears. Yahaba kisses the side of his knee softly before sliding in another finger and curling them slightly, grinning in satisfaction when Kyoutani groans through his teeth, the muscles of his stomach flinching slightly. Shigeru doesn’t let up, stroking his fingers over the same spot, watching Kyoutani toss his head back and groan. He’s mindful this time not to thrash around too much, and when Shigeru presses again against his prostate, Kyoutani’s voice cracks and Shigeru can see tears bead at the corners of his eyes, practically shaking with the effort of holding himself still.

“You’re doing so good,” Shigeru praises, his voice warm as honey, and Kyoutani’s voice trembles through another moan, like he’s forgotten he’s not supposed to relish simple praise so much. Shigeru spreads his fingers apart, chuckling when Kyoutani tries pushing his hips back against the slight friction, shaking his head. “Hold still. I’ll take care of you.”

“Too slow,” Kyoutani grumbles, though his heart is hardly in it. It takes a more concentrated effort for Kyoutani’s body to let Shigeru fill him with a third finger, and Shigeru is nearly purring, sliding his hand down Kyoutani’s thigh to wrap around his dripping cock as well.

“You haven’t been lonely, have you Ken?” He teases the head idly with his thumb, scissoring his fingers slowly apart. Kyoutani huffs slightly at the teasing, but he doesn’t answer. Shigeru curls his fingers again, smiling when it makes Kyoutani grip the sheets under him so hard they nearly tear. He slides his fingers out slowly, watching the telltale trembling of Kyoutani’s thighs, the way every exhale seems to have a small groan attached to it. It’s easy for him to tell when Kyoutani is close, and it’d be a shame if he were careless and ended up ruining all of the fun.

Kyoutani grits his teeth at the loss but doesn’t complain further, easing his grip on the bed. Shigeru pushes his pants down carelessly, painfully aware that he’s been constricted the whole time. He slicks oil over his cock carefully, forcing himself not to thrust into the welcome relief of his own hand. He feels almost restless, with too much energy in his muscles waiting to burst forth like a spring being released. 

He sinks into Kyoutani with a groan, not scolding him this time for the way his back arches off of the sheets. Shigeru lets his thigh down gently, leaning forward to kiss him once more, catching the groan that rattles out of Kyoutani’s mouth in return on his lips. Kyoutani reaches, catching Shigeru’s hand and lacing their fingers together. Shigeru squeezes his hand in return, gripping it tightly as he slowly pushes his way inside. Kyoutani has never been one to complain about pain, and so Shigeru ignores the first impatient rolls of his hips. It’s a struggle, especially with Kyoutani squeezing hot and tight around his cock. 

He waits until Kyoutani can hardly hold himself still before swinging his hips back, thrusting into him roughly. Kyoutani pushes his hips back against the friction, and Shigeru knows he isn’t going to last very long. He doesn’t build his way up, instead, he focuses on thrusting into Kyoutani with quick, brutal thrusts, letting Kyoutani angle his hips the way he wants.

Shigeru keeps Kyoutani’s hand firmly in his, ducking his head to kiss him once more, his other hand wrapping again around his slick cock. He strokes Kyoutani slowly, at odds with the punishing speed of his hips, using his hand to do little more than tease. Kyoutani shuts his eyes tightly, his fingers gripping the back of Shigeru’s hair, tugging slightly. His whole body seems to twist, his back arching entirely off the bed and his hips pushing down, forcing Shigeru’s cock as deep as he can when he tops over the edge. “Fuck!”

Ducking his head to rest against Kyoutani’s chest, Shigeru slows his hips only slightly, stroking Kyoutani through his orgasm until he falls back against the bed. Shigeru releases his cock but doesn’t stop, panting as he continues driving his hips forward. Kyoutani’s hand pets the back of his head when he comes, lips parted slightly around a long moan, holding onto Kyoutani’s hand as tightly as he can to keep himself grounded.

He slumps against Kyoutani for a moment, trying to catch his breath, aware that the both of them are a much bigger mess than before. After a moment he sits up, fishing Kyoutani’s already ruined shirt from the floor and using it to wipe his the both of them clean, pressing a small, tentative kiss against the side of Kyoutani’s stomach. Kyoutani’s leg twitches slightly in response, and Shigeru finds himself biting down on the urge to laugh.

The two of them wind up laying in a tangle of limbs in the middle of the bed, the sheets wrapped around them like a cocoon against the outside world. And for once, Shigeru is all too glad to join Kyoutani in not thinking about what should come next. Instead, he lets himself drift off to sleep, listening to Kyoutani’s breathing become slow and even.

 

It doesn’t take them too long to reach what remains of the temple when the morning finally arrives. They manage to scrounge up a shirt for Kyoutani from the chest of drawers in the bedroom, though it’s slightly small and smells strongly of musty wood.

The temple itself is little more than a crumbling ruin, and Shigeru wonders to himself just how long ago the sword was hidden there. He can feel, amongst the broken stones, the remains of enchantments so strong that they make his teeth hurt, bouncing around his skill half-formed, still trying to carry out their ancient purpose. Shigeru, standing on the steps, hesitates, frowning as he looks around. “What an odd place.”

Kyoutani, a few steps ahead, pauses and looks over his shoulder with an eyebrow cocked upwards. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Lots of old spells,” Shigeru reaches out tentatively, dragging his fingers over one of the rough stones with a shake of his head. The magic tries to reach out to his touch, to greet him or perhaps to strike back for his intrusion, Shigeru isn’t sure, but it fizzles out, leaving nothing more than a strange warmth tingling in the tips of his fingers. “Strong ones.”

“Huh,” Kyoutani, who has all the magical intuition of a rock, cranes his head slightly like he’s looking for evidence of what Shigeru can simply _feel_. “Is it dangerous?”

“Not anymore.” Shigeru begins walking again, passing by Kyoutani in a few strides. “But it’s no place that I want to linger.”

Kyoutani shrugs his shoulders and follows Shigeru the rest of the way up the steps.

When they step through the crumbling archway, there’s another small fizzle of magic against Shigeru’s nerves, and it leaves him feeling strange for a moment. Even the air tastes like it’s laced with magic. Kyoutani pauses when he reaches the middle of the room, looking around. When the walls were standing, it would have been circular, with tall columns carved out of stone reaching all the way to the ceiling. Now, the ceiling has fallen away in large chunks, leaving the painted tableau it held scattered in pieces over the floor, and some of the columns have begun to list to the side, leaning toward one another.

“So where’s the stupid sword?” Kyoutani asks, scratching at the back of his head. Shigeru frowns slightly, holding his hand out for the map tucked into Kyoutani’s pocket. He draws it out, passing it over into Shigeru’s waiting hand with a lopsided grin as if he expected Shigeru to forget that it had been stolen in the first place.

Shigeru unfolds it carefully before pressing the pad of his thumb against one of his sharp teeth, drawing out a bead of blood that he then smears over the blank surface of the page. It soaks in immediately, like the map itself is thirsty. The thought gives Shigeru a slight shiver, and he pushes it quickly from his mind.

The images that slowly take shape on the surface are different than the last time Shigeru tried to navigate his way, though he’s not terribly surprised by it. It shows, rather than the trail from the castle to the temple, a diagram of the temple itself. Shigeru can see the large main room that they’re standing in now, and what appears to be a carefully concealed staircase, leading down below, presumably to where the altar and the sword itself rests.

With a slight nod to no one but himself, Shigeru folds the map once more and tucks it into his own pocket this time. “This way.”

It’s a stroke of luck that the doorway to the staircase hasn’t collapsed or been covered in rubble, but when Shigeru presses his hands to the concealed panel, it fails to react. Frowning, he gives it another push. Kyoutani, standing a foot behind him, grunts and shoulders Shigeru gently out of the way. He shoves against the wall with all of his strength, and Shigeru has to do his best not to laugh at Kyoutani, red-faced and grunting, only to have his feet skid across the stone floors.

“I think it’s magic,” Shigeru can barely keep the smug tone out of his voice, and when Kyoutani looks over his shoulder with a glare, it’s obvious Kyoutani noticed anyway. Shigeru touches just the tips of his fingers to the door, closing his eyes and shaping in his mind a spell for opening, unlocking, and revealing. He can feel the slight pull in his stomach as the magic builds, but as it travels down the length of his arm, Shigeru can feel that something isn’t right.

There’s too much strength, too much magic for him to handle, and it’s overpowering him. It shimmers in his vision, casting strange shadows over the temple, making his whole body feel like it’s about to explode outward.

He hits the stone floor hard, tasting blood in the back of his throat.

*** * ***

When Yahaba hits the floor, the doorway he found in the wall starts to groan, and Kentarou springs forward as quickly as possible, lifting Yahaba’s body and pulling him out of the way before the stones explode outward.

For a moment, he stumbles with Yahaba’s weight before setting him down gently a few feet away, kneeling over him and pressing two fingers to the side of his throat. He can feel Yahaba’s pulse rushing under his fingers, and he resists the urge to sigh out in relief at that. He doesn’t know much about magic, and he has no independent sense of it himself, so he isn’t sure what exactly happened, but Yahaba sits up a moment later, groaning and rubbing at his eyes.

“Stupid,” he shakes his head, then looks up, flinching back slightly in surprise. It takes Kentarou a moment to realize that Yahaba didn’t expect him to be so close, and he leans back, frowning. Yahaba pushes his hair out of his face with a small sigh. “I’m fine. I didn’t think about all the lingering magic here.”

“You blew up the door,” Kentarou huffs, shrugging his shoulders. Yahaba looks over his shoulder at the now opened way before laughing.

“Looks like I did. You’ll have to carry the sword.” Yahaba begins to push himself upright, but he stumbles and Kentarou has to rush forward to catch him, pulling one of Yahaba’s arms over his shoulder. He seems unsteady on his feet still, and Kentarou’s hand rests at the small of the back, helping support him. “I’ll be fine in a minute.”

“You sure?” He frowns, glancing at the open doorway at the other side of the temple. “I can go get it myself?”

Yahaba shakes his head at the offer, and for a moment Kentarou wonders if he still thinks Kentarou will use the sword against him, or against Oikawa. But Shigeru’s fingers tighten around his shoulder, both to keep his feet and to reassure. “If there’s a magic trap, you won’t be able to sense it.”

“Oh.” The tips of Kentarou’s ears go hot, and he nods.

They make their way down the stairs together, with Yahaba slowly growing steadier on his feet. Once he’s sure that Yahaba isn’t going to fall flat on his face, Kentarou drops his arm gently, though he feels oddly reluctant to let go.

It was almost a surprise to wake up in the morning with Yahaba still there, with his arms wrapped around Kentarou like he was scared of being left alone again. Kentarou isn’t really sure where they stand with one another, and while he knows that perhaps he should ask, something makes him pause with the words heavy on his tongue. He wants to tell himself there will be plenty of time to sort their feelings out later, he’s simply not sure that it’s true.

When the reach the bottom of the steep stairs, there’s an old stone altar, the candles already around it flickered to life, casting strange shadows along the wall. The sight of them makes Kentarou anxious, though he keeps it to himself. Yahaba will just tell him it’s magic—nothing to worry about. As magic sensitive as a rock in the forest, Kentarou can’t help but think that magic is plenty to be worried about.

On the altar, laying on the threadbare cloth that covers it, a faded echo of the rich red and gold that it used to be, is the sword that Iwaizumi sent him here to find. It looks, to Kentarou, like any old sword, though it’s massive. Yahaba stops several feet back, his eyes darting around the rest of the room, nodding his head for Kentarou to go ahead and pick it up. “I don’t sense anything. I think all the traps broke.”

Kentarou nods, wrapping his fingers around the dark hilt of the sword. It takes both hands for him to lift it, and just from the length alone he knows it will have to be strapped to his back, not his waist. It’s barely worth using in a fight, Kentarou thinks, with its extreme length and weight. It’s nearly as tall as he is himself, and the blade is as wide as his hand. Yahaba stares at the sword with something like fear in his eyes, and after a moment Kentarou remembers that this sword is more than just the item he was sent to find.

It’s a sword for killing demons. It makes sense that Yahaba, a demon himself, is scared of it. Kentarou grins at him, carefully fixing the strap of it across his chest. It aches slightly, the wounds on his chest still painful despite the extra healing from Kenma. “Worried I’ll cut your head off?”

He means it as a joke, but Yahaba still scowls at him, a lingering hesitation on his face that tells the whole story.

Foolishly, Kentarou is hurt by that, like he and Yahaba hadn’t been trying to wound one another for days.

“I think,” Yahaba looks around the room, a little frown on his face. “I think I can open up a portal.”

“You sure you wanna try?” Kentarou is more apprehensive after the previous attempt at magic nearly got Yahaba crushed under a fallen wall. But Yahaba looks confident, running his fingers along the altar and nodding his head.

“It took me by surprise before, but there’s so much magic here it shouldn’t be too hard.” He shrugs his shoulders, holding a hand out to Kentarou with a slight grin. “Trust me?”

Despite saying the opposite the night before, Kentarou reaches out and laces his fingers with Yahaba’s, giving his hand a small squeeze. “Yeah. I do.”

Yahaba’s face softens at that, and while he has to untangle his fingers from Kentarou’s to open the portal, he seems reluctant to do it. Instead, he leans and presses a chaste peck to Kentarou’s lips in thanks.

Then he turns back to the altar, his pleased expression morphing into one of focus, his brow tightly furrowed, fingers moving in the air ahead of him. The furrow of his brow deepens, and his lips part slightly, jaw knotting as he struggles against the force of the magic he’s trying to control. Kentarou can’t sense it, but he can see the way every muscle of Yahaba’s body goes tight, his eyes closing for just a second before his hands pull away from one another, shaking like he’s tearing the air.

And a hole opens in front of him, pulsing with darkness. Yahaba drops his hands and lets out a tired wheeze, though he keeps his feet this time. He manages, despite the clear effort it took, to look satisfied with himself, and Kentarou decides to let him have it this time. Yahaba gives him a small nod, and despite the coil of nerves in his stomach, Kentarou steps forward through the portal, letting the darkness of it swallow him up.

**Author's Note:**

> I think this will be 2 parts in the end. I don't know. All I know is that I've lost control of my life.


End file.
